What if?
by astrophobia
Summary: Soul is opening himself up for once. Oneshot.


_Soul's Mom died today._

He got the call around 2 am, she remembers hearing the phone ring, hearing his curses, and then him stumbling out of bed.

She remembers him muttering a thank you into the line and shuffling down the hallway, and her rolling out of bed to meet him in the kitchen. He faced the counter, already pouring milk into a mug.

He told her through whispers, carefully showing her that his voice wouldn't crack.

Now it is 7 am and Maka hasn't slept since.

When she got around to getting up, she didn't bother with changing or brushing through her knotted hair. She could feel the sorrow through the walls, the silence and sickness deep in her stomach.

He's sitting on the couch, and she can already tell he doesn't want to talk. She doesn't even meet his eyes; she knows the depth of them will be too vivid; she knows his gaze with bore deep down into hers, and burn her forest greens with his flaring reds.

When she turns back towards her room from the kitchen; he's asleep. She steps carefully over to the closet, pulling out a blanket that's been worn out for years. She shakes it, and remembers not to be too loud; because she can't handle his scolding. Maka returns to the couch and he stirs, his brows knitting together. Soul looks like a kid, a kid who can't reach something on the top shelf. She throws the blanket over his limp body, slowly and gradually tucking in the corners under various parts of him.

"You know, I left without telling her goodbye." He's looking up at her now, and the air floods into her lungs heavily.

He turns and slides more into the couch, making room for her to sit down next to him; and she does. She puts a hand into his chaotic hair, proceeding to run her hands through it until he stops talking.

"I didn't want to see her cry." Maka can hear his teeth clanking together after every word, but Maka's closing her eyes and so is Soul. She's still wrapping her fingers around pieces of hair as she pulls through repeating as the time slows.

"You wanted to hear this story,right?" Soul looked at her, as she was about to speak he continued: "For a kid that had everything, I really had nothing."

"Not like this, Soul. I wanted to hear it, but not like this."

His fingers are running a circle on her knee-cap, and her sweater is hanging off of one shoulder limply.

"From the moment I was born, my brother and I were treated as our parent's guests. They only returned home once a year, for a month." The circles along her knee came slowly now, and only started back up when Soul remembered his hand was there in the first place, "On Christmas, I was getting so many gifts. Everything a kid wanted, you know? All of them packed with some letter saying; Do your best! Keep learning piano! Then I realized Wes was getting all the same gifts."

"Soul-"

"They weren't from our parents. I figured out that these gifts were from our Mother's secretary." He forced a smile, "I spent every day before that learning piano because I thought if I tried hard enough, they might be proud of me, or maybe they'd stay a little longer."

Maka stayed quiet, her hand in the ditch of his collarbone and neck, rubbing it hardly.

"One day, when the butlers and maids were all busy, I slipped out. I think it was July, because it was warm and almost night. Wes used to take me down the estate to a little lake. That day, I went alone." Soul's eye were half-lidded now; he was in the memory now. Not with her anymore. "I slipped in. I thought I died."

"I woke up in the hospital. Nobody was there. Nobody. Mom was half way across the country on and trip, and Father was too busy signing contracts with companies that don't even exist anymore. Wes didn't even come. He stopped talking to me months before this incident. I felt like my whole family had left me alone, and they had. I left when I was discharged."

Soul tugged her arm and she was invaded by warmth, he pushed down into her. "Then I met you."

* * *

_Dear Soul's Mother,_

_The day you left him, whether that was today, or five years ago,_  
_ He lost the way to be touched. He had lost his way to live._  
_ Maybe he will forgive you one day, or maybe one day-_  
_ ...we will loose him, too._

* * *

**_Authors note:_**

**_ Ahg, sorry for being gone for a while. I've been busy with school and such...and sorry for coming back with a sad fic._**

**_ Sorrysorrysorry. :( On the bright side: I'm working on other one-shots now, too. SO, look for those._**

**_ R&Rs welcomed, as usual. xx_**


End file.
